Welcome to Broadside Thirty, a digital showcase for young poets. Each entry will feature a single poem under thirty lines, written by a poet under thirty years old. This week we feature Lucia Stacey.
That I have to go to the gynecologist
in Brooklyn, because I chose the cheaper
health insurance plan. That I will sit
speculum-sore for ages, waiting for the L.
That there’s no heat in my bedroom
(sexual or otherwise). That I have to go
to Bushwick to admit this to a stranger.
That I can blow smoke upon waking.
That I spent money on Sharon Olds
Anne Sexton, Victoria Redel, and wine
instead of chicken or peaches or beans.
That I did everything
I wasn’t supposed to (but only last Sunday).
That the ceiling fell
into the shower and I stood naked
on the deck to get clean. That no one saw.
That I learned indifference by watching
a mouse hemorrhage internally in glue.
That my laundry man has only one eye
and three teeth. That he said to call him Tony.
That I know what chemical to use
to disintegrate the body
of a pigeon, trapped and died in the wall.
That I held an accidental séance
because of all the candles and incense.
That I’ve considered the $5 psychics
selling fortunes on Canal street.
That I can recognize black mold.
That I recognize faces on the M72.
That I am recognized. That I am not.
Lucia Stacey is a twenty-three year old graduate of Davidson College, where she majored in English and won the Charles E. Lloyd Award for Excellence in the Field of Creative Nonfiction. She has had poetry and flash-fiction published in Out of Our, Columbia Journal’s Catch and Release, Ozone Park, The Atlas Review, and The Chicago Quarterly Review. She is a member of the Poetry Society of New York’s Poetry Brothel. Lucia works in biodefense and lives and writes in the East Village in New York City.
Submissions to Broadside Thirty (poets under thirty years old may submit up to three poems, each under thirty lines) or any other categories on The Open Bar may be sent to email@example.com with the category name in the subject line.